Stay With Me
by Kusari Etc
Summary: My first HP attempt, after reading many fics in the category. Short **slash** fic for the perfect pair: RL/SB. Enjoy!


~My first HP shounen-ai fic. Perhaps later I will write a lemon, but for now I will just ease myself into the category. Of course, none of the characters are mine, but I have taken the liberty to screw with their heads. Do not sue me, unless all you want is a POS computer.~

The sun gets closer and closer to setting and I am still here. I haven't transformed yet, stupid as it may be. (Well as if it's not stupid to be _there_ in the first place) But I can't change just yet. Not when my lovely little Moony needs me and my presence.

We've sat here like this for almost an hour now. 'Like this' being my arms wound around his little, quivering frame on the floor, his back melded against my torso and simply curled on the floor. Us becoming one and waiting for the sun's agonizingly slow disappearance in the basement of the Shrieking Shack. Well, it is better than what he was doing an hour or so ago; the panting, pacing and waxing near mad.

I have got him a bit calmer, at this point. He is still shaking and feverishly hot, but his limbs are otherwise still and his head is tucked psuedo-serenely under my chin. I have definitely come to like this, if he just didn't seem so damn sick, it would be sweet to be like this all the time. Holding him, loving him, protecting him from… whatever. But now, a particularly strong shudder racks him and he groans in the beginnings of pain.

"It hurts," he moans and my heart's strings are pulled down to my gut, only to be let go and have my heart jump into my throat.

"I know it, Love," I say softly and hold him tighter as I hear his bones, joints pop and muscles tremor unnaturally as his body prepares for the inevitable change, "I can tell."

He puts his hand out and snakes it up around my neck, digging his fingers into my flesh as his tendons contract. I trace my long fingers down his arm and run them all the way back up his neck to cup his face comfortingly. He twists his head away with a wince, though I know the soothing gesture is not lost on him.

"You had better go, Sirius," he says over his deep and shaky breathing.

I smile and decline politely, as if it were an invitation and not a command. Well, as close to a command that Remus usually gives. "I won't leave you. Not just yet."

He shudders all over again and I can feel each one of his muscles as they contract. He nearly doubles over, away from me, from the ache of changing. Instead, he bows his back and turns, burying his head into my chest. I quietly stroke his hair, which has gotten damp from the perspiration of his raving. It is such lovely hair. A shade of brown that nears amber, or honey – and it feels just like satin thread between my fingers, even when it's wet. His fingers dig into my shoulders forcefully and I just bend my neck to kiss that soft, sweet hair.

"Go. Now." He snarls, pushing back from me and curling up into a fetal ball on the floor boards. His arms are tight around his knees and press them hard into his upper body. As if he could contain the pain and the change all at once.

"Not yet," I insist softly and kiss his head again, drawing him back into my lap. Just to prove to him that I am not afraid.

Truth be told, I am terrified. Scared to death of what he becomes once a month – what Peter, James and I have jokingly referred to as "Remus' PMS Session" in private. It's much worse, mind you. Unlike the girls I know who threaten it, Remus would actually kill me. That is not what frightens me, though. Not the fact that he could or would, but that he has to be what he is. To have him go through that. The fact that My Darling, My Love – _My_ Remus - goes through oh so much for nothing but pain and privation.

And I promised myself that I would see it out with him and take care of him, if only just for this once.

"You need to go. Now. Please… I… I just can't be allowed to hurt you." He's shivering so hard now and there is not a relaxed muscle in his entire, tight body. The sun is only a sliver above the horizon and he's so close. We have so little time.

Suddenly, the spasms are gone, if only for a moment. He straightens himself in my lap and I'm a bit more frightened of this than his painful transformation. His eyes are hungry, shining and brilliant with a light I'm not used to seeing in him. It is consuming and feral and primal… not my Remus. His mouth covers mine suddenly and it is rough and almost unpleasant. Yet his kisses could never be unpleasant. His tongue thrusting against the tip of mine, but it's not playful. It is flat-out dominance. He pulls back and bites my lip, hard. Hard enough that I know it will be bruised in minutes for a few days. He stares into my eyes and that light takes a few minutes to die down, replaced by a bit of shame.

"You see? You have to go. Get out. Now. I will do worse," he quakes and turns, pushing me hard away and falling into a corner, "Go!"

I turn and start to transform, letting the spell overtake my body and morphing down, smaller, tighter… my instincts become a bit sharper and I can feel the danger in the room, smelling fear and danger mixed nauseatingly. His body is growing while mine is shrinking. Hair appears mutually on our skins-turned-hides. An Alpha-Male growl rumbles from deep down in his belly and I whine, basically done with my change, while he's only at the starting line of his. I scamper out a hole in the wall, squirming and almost becoming stuck in it. I pushed the limit frighteningly close this time.

Finally out, I turn circles in front of the deceptively small hole. Still in my "Padfoot" form, I lay down and place my shaggy black head on my paws. Worry contorts even my dog-face and I whimper as I hear him start to destroy the threadbare room. Nearly an hour later, the transformation is complete, and he's no longer in a pain-stricken rage. I sidle up closer, knowing that if I were human at this point, he would do his moon-damned best to break through the wall to kill me.

Instead, he comes to lay by the broken boards as well. His now-heavy form pounds against the floor loudly as he spreads out. He is calmer; maybe tired by the whole ordeal. The lycanthrope sighs and snuffles loudly. Piteously. He _is_ exhausted, physically and emotionally. I want to hold him again, no matter his form, but I don't dare.

I whine a bit, trying to tell him that I'll stay with him. Always. A small, whining howl leaves his lips, and I don't know if he understand or if I am reading too much into it, but I could swear he agreed to the same.


End file.
